


The Faceless Girl and the Red Wolf

by Katinthesnow



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Arrow (TV 2012), Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Gen, Jon and the Starks Are Not Related, Murder, Revenge, Starling City, Vigilantism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2017-08-25
Packaged: 2018-12-12 03:47:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11728863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katinthesnow/pseuds/Katinthesnow
Summary: Ned Stark was one of the most powerful men in Starling City. And then his boat went down in the Atlantic, with him and his two daughters on board. Seven years later, and the world is about to find out that while Mr. Stark didn't survive that accident, his daughters did. Arya Stark by washing up on an island that was not-quite deserted, Sansa Stark by being pulled out of the water by a member of a dark secret society. They're strong now - seeking revenge against those who orchestrated the accident that killed their father. But coming home isn't easy, not with secrets in their hearts and blood on their hands.





	1. Chapter One

2010, Somewhere in the Pacific Ocean

“1…2…3…” Sansa’s voice was barely a whisper, her eyes on the one long thin window in the yacht’s room and the view of dark grey it revealed. “It’s getting closer.” 

“Pay attention.” Arya snapped, her focus was on the task at hand. “It’s your turn.” She wasn’t worried about a little storm – it wasn’t the first bad weather they’d encountered on their many times out at sea on The Hand of the King. A strange name for a yacht, maybe, but it was a gift for her father from his friend Robert Baratheon – another wealthy businessman who he had grown up with. A man who liked to joke that the two men were modern-day kings. 

“That doesn’t look like Go-Fish.” Ned Stark said, his tone was observatory and without malice. He was standing in the doorway, brow furrowed. “Who taught you two how to play poker?”

It had been Robb, the girls’ older brother, and his best friend Jon. But Arya wasn’t about to rat them out - Sansa, either, to her credit. So instead, the dark-haired girl said, “Will you play with me? Sansa’s too busy counting thunder and lightning.” Her sister huffed at this, set down her cards, and stood up. Her pink satin robe swished prettily along with her red hair – looking the picture of elegance. Arya looked like the tomboy she was in grey sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt. 

Their father smiled, and quietly approached his daughters to give them both a kiss on the forehead. “Don’t worry,” he told Sansa, while his arms rested on her shoulders. “We’re almost out of the storm.” She smiled softly in response, but Arya noticed that her sister didn’t seem quite convinced. Ned Stark didn’t seem to notice that hesitation in his daughter’s eyes, though, and he stepped back with a more confident smile. “It’s late,” he said. “You two should get to bed – we can play cards tomorrow.” 

Arya’s annoyed snort was covered by a loud bang and from above the boat shaking – Arya shook in her seat, and Sansa was steady by their father. The shouting was instant, the whole yacht went from sleepy to desperate in a moment. Sansa looked terrified, Arya felt fear start to creep in on her too – the hairs on her arms were at full alert. 

“We should get above deck.” Ned Stark had changed as suddenly as the energy on the boat – he wore his serious work expression. Confident, but not kind and fatherly. Not the expression he’d had when pressing a kiss to Arya’s head a minute ago. “Come.” He said, helping Arya out of her seat, and shooting a look to make sure Sansa was right behind them. They made it to the room’s door before Sansa cried out.

“Wait, I need to get Mother’s earrings, she lent them to me.”

“Sansa.” Ned barely had time for the word to leave his lips before the boat shook violently again. Arya was griping her father’s arms and he was holding onto the frame of the door. Arya was halfway turned, Sansa had made it to the bedside dresser and was holding onto it with one hand while the other gripped a small jewelry box. Arya felt cold on her toes and looked down to see an inch or so of water covering the floor. It’s going to sink. She realized, strangely calmly. “Sansa.” Her father said again, louder, like a sharp bark. 

The redhead girl took one shaky step forward, and though the boat was swaying harshly it was steadier. After that she sped up, crossing the room quickly, her hand held out towards Arya and their father.

Boom.

This hit sounded like metal breaking. It sounded irreparable. Arya had to use both hands to cling to edge of the door and the force had her pushed up against it, temporarily covering her sight. She turned her body as best she could without losing her grip. Sansa had fallen without something to hold onto, the force had pushed her onto her back. She was trying to scramble to her feat. Arya couldn’t see her father well from this position, just make his profile out from the corner of her eye. He was crouched, holding his arm out as far as he could for her sister to grab. 

The next minute felt like an eternity. The crash came first much like the others. Sansa had almost been on her feet, but ended up on all fours. Arya dropped down like her father, her arms were much shorter than his but she stretched it out anyway. They needed to move – and even there were several feet between them, Arya was desperate to reach her sister. 

The sound had changed, it wasn’t a big metal booming but a loud whooshing. Sansa wasn’t trying to stand - she crawled forward. It wasn’t until Sansa shot a look over her shoulder that Arya took in the sight behind her. The wall of the ship was partly gone, seawater was pouring in rapidly, it was already up to Sansa’s elbows. Sansa lifted her arm out, gripping her finger’s around her father’s. 

The boat hit a hard wave, turning almost completely on its side. Arya hit the doorway hard with the force of her father hitting into her back, anchoring them both halfway around the hallway wall. Sansa cried out, losing the wet grip she’d had. Arya didn’t know if she made a sound, she didn’t know if her father made a sound – if he’d cried out her sister’s name for a third time. Sansa slide quickly, her beautiful red hair behind her, without enough time to even grasp for another hold, even though Arya felt she was looking at her sister’s face for an eternity. Tears in her beautiful blue eyes and mouth gaping in fear. 

And then she was gone, sucked out of the boat with the sea water. 

Arya closed her eyes. No, no, no... Her mind chorused. She felt her fingers being pried from the edge of the doorway, by her father’s strong familiar fingers.

“We need to move.” He said, quietly. Or maybe he didn’t. It didn’t sound anything like his voice. He pulled them up so they were seated on the wall of the hallway. And when Arya didn’t move, didn’t open her eyes, he scooped her up like she was five years old again and jumped to his feet. He ran to deck stairs as the boat shifted beneath them, right-way up and more flooded than ever. Arya opened her eyes to the painful beating of ran against her skin when they reached the deck. There were two crew members, out of the ten they’d come with. 

“The life boat is ready! Hurry!” One said, screaming to be heard over the storm. Ned Stark made no move to put Arya down, carrying her to the side where they could look down and see the captain in the bright orange raft. Then his hold loosened, and suddenly he was pushing her away from him, hoisting her down to the captain who caught her. Like with Sansa, she didn’t take her eyes off of him, taking in the details of his face from below. 

A clap of thunder rang out. Only it wasn’t thunder. Even through the heavy rain, the red bloomed across Ned Stark’s chest like a dark rose. His eyes widened ever so slightly – his eyes that were so much like her own. Then, he slowly and deliberately closed his eyes and Arya understood why. It was a gunshot – that was the hole of a bullet that spread blood across his front. He didn’t want her to see the life leave his eyes. He fell forward and Arya opened her mouth to scream but no sound came out – or maybe it had just like maybe he had yelled for Sansa. The captain was still holding her, though she pushed against him to try and get on her own feet. Her father hit the water flat, sending icy water over the raft and it’s two passengers and propelling them away from the yacht as it sank fast. She could see the man still on the boat, holding a pistol aimed at her. Her father’s body was gone, sunk into the water. 

Her companion on the ground dropped them both down flat just as the man fired off another shot, and missed them both. They were gaining distance quickly, pulled along by the harsh movement of the ocean. But if the next shot hit the raft then they were doomed; she would be meeting her father and sister on the ocean floor. Maybe she wanted that to happen, or maybe she wanted to live. It was impossible to know in that moment, lying on her stomach soaking wet and staring up at the figure of someone who wanted to kill her. 

“Cover your ears!” The man with her shouted, she turned her head and saw him pull out his own handgun. She nodded and did as he said. He stayed lying beside her but raised his upper body to fire off a shot at the attacker. Aside from the noise, nothing happened so it must have missed. The man standing on the now water-level deck of The Hand of the King was many yards away now – but he had a good shot at the raft still. The captain - Arya remembered now that his name was Yoren – pulled her hand off of the ear closest to him and yelled more instructions at her. “Stay down, you hear me? Until the minute the storm passes you stay down. Understood?” Arya nodded fiercely, feeling her cheek numb and cold rub against the raft’s rubber. 

Yoren got up on his knees, aiming his handgun with a steel expression and steady hands, despite their rocky movement. Even her hands over her ears hurt from the loud mixing sound of two guns fired at the same time. She looked forward and saw the man on the boat – her father’s murderer – fall backwards. Then she looked at Yoren as he fell forward beside her once again. And then she couldn’t bear to look, because there was even more blood than there’d been on her father. It was everywhere, mixing with the water on and off the boat – stemming from his shoulder. She felt the weight on the raft shift and lighten. She didn’t look then, either. She couldn’t bear to watch another person become lost in the water. She put her head down, completely flat. She was alone.


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are going to be a lot of different POVs in this story, not just Arya and Sansa's. A big thanks to the people who were commenting right after Chapter one - it made me want to break out chapter two right away. <3

Chapter Two

2017, Starling City

“The mill was a good investment at the time. It seemed sure.” Edmure Tully said, trying to hold on to his dignity. Robb thought it was far too late for that. Edmure was both much older than him and his uncle, but that didn’t stop him from being incredibly stupid. Robb hired him because Edmure couldn’t seem to manage finding a decent job on his own, but now Robb didn’t think he could justify keeping around the family member any longer. Not after this latest screw up. 

“You overpaid for an asset without coming to me about it first. You bought a location without having it properly inspected first. It wasn’t up to code, and now it’s a pile of ashes. You were supposed to come to me with a proposal of what you wanted to invest in – not go around me.” Robb stood up from his tall-backed desk chair and slammed his hands down against the hard wood. The thud caused Edmure to jump. 

“I…I’m sorry, I didn’t think it would…”

“You didn’t think! And more importantly, you didn’t ask. Now we not only lost our original investment, but we’ll be swamped with legal fines.” Robb sighed and rubbed his temples, “I suppose we should just be thankful no one was hurt.”

Edmure looked surprised by this, like he hadn’t even considered that his incompetence could have killed someone. Maybe he hadn’t. 

Robb sighed again, looking around his wide office. It wasn’t comforting to him, but unnerving. He was still young, only 26 and barely finished with his MBA. Sure he’d been groomed his whole life to take over the family business, but going from intern to President wasn’t an easy transition. If it hadn’t been for the accident seven years ago, he would have been working his way up while his father sat in this office. That was the way it was meant to have gone. 

But no amount of meant to be would change what had really happened. His father was gone, along with his sisters. Everything changed so quickly. His mother came undone for a long time, until Robb had to beg her to leave her room for the sake of Bran and Rickon.

“Please. They need you.” He had begged. He had wanted to tell her that he needed her, too. But when he looked up at her from his place on his knees beside her chair he saw her as she was – small, broken, and lost – he knew he could not ask anything of her for himself. The mother of his childhood was gone, and he was the strongest in their family now. He had wanted to cry, he had wanted his mother to comfort him over the loss they shared. But he told himself that it was enough that she left her room after that. 

It took four years for color to return to Catelyn Stark’s face and the glassy look of her eyes to fade disappear. And once that happened, she was as fierce as he’d remembered her to be. She came back to the company after a string of incompetent president’s and declared herself interim until Robb finished graduate school. She brought him in as an intern around his class schedule and taught him everything about the business so that no one could complain he didn’t know enough about Stark Industries. 

Over seven years he had learned everything he could to get here, to take care of his family and their company. Even if the office and position were unnerving, he was confident in his decisions and judgement. And at this moment, there was no doubt in his mind he had to fire his uncle – his mother’s brother. 

He sighed again, “Edmure…”

“President!” The office door burst open suddenly and loudly hit the wall. His secretary, a young man probably the same age as Robb named Todd, was breathless and wide-eyed in the doorway. “I’m sorry, I know you asked not to be disturbed until you were finished but, well…” Todd stuttered, his eyes fliting to Edmure and back.

“Edmure, we’ll finish later.” Robb said, the young secretary wouldn’t have come in like that if it wasn’t an emergency, and looked unsure about Edmure’s presence. His uncle looked relieved, nodded, and hurried away almost comically. 

Robb stayed standing. “Well? What is it?” He asked as soon as Edmure was out of earshot. 

“Your mother called, I asked if she wanted to talk to you but said there was no time. To give you a message.” 

“And? If she was in such a hurry I’m sure she’d want you to get to the point.” He said, his head aching from a long day full of problems. 

“She said you need to meet her at Starling General, Sir, right away.” Todd said. Robb was grabbing his coat and keys in an instant – every terrible scenario going through his mind. Bran, Rickon, his mother – he couldn’t lose one of them, not after they’d already lost so many. 

He was out the door, barely noticing Todd trailing behind him like a lost puppy. “Did she say anything else? What this is about?” 

“No, that was all, but…” They reached the elevator, Robb stepping in while Todd lingered behind hesitantly. 

Robb practically growled out his response, “I swear to God, speak up or don’t say anything.” Todd turned beet red and stepped into the elevator, pushing the button for the lobby. Once the door closed he had taken out his phone and appeared to be searching for something.

“Mrs. Stark didn’t say anything else, but the internet’s been blowing up for hours. It’s everywhere.” The secretary appeared to find what he was looking for and held his phone out for Robb to take. “A fisherman’s boat came in earlier today, with someone they apparently found on an uninhabited island in the Pacific.” Robb took the phone in his hands, not understanding how this was at all related to meeting his mother at the hospital. He examined the photo of a small figure with dark hair sitting beside an ambulance with a security blanket around their shoulders right next to the harbor. It was an awkward angle, and you couldn’t see the person’s face. “They say it’s your sister, Sir.” 

Robb’s heart seemed to stop, along with his brain and motor function. His eyes bore into the small digital picture fiercely now – taking in every detail. His sister – Arya – if it was true than it was her, not Sansa (who had been tall and redheaded like Robb himself). Arya could be alive. No, if his mother had called him to the hospital then it must be the truth. Arya was alive. Arya was here. 

Brave, funny, troublemaking Arya who would follow him and Jon around to roughhouse and hear their crude jokes and learn poker. Arya who ran away from a scolding but came always came back looking contrite and seeking a hug. His little sister, who had been gone. Who had been dead to the whole world. He could see her again, he could hug her again…

“Sir.” Todd said, louder than he’d been speaking before. Robb had been lost in his own thoughts, unaware that they had reached the lobby and he was standing there while the eyes of dozens of people watched. He walked as fast as he could past them. Some might not have heard yet, but many seemed to be searching his person for some sign that it was true or not. Could a little girl possibly have survived on an island by herself for seven years?

A wave of doubt hit Robb suddenly. Maybe there was another reason his mother had called for him. It didn’t make sense. No matter how tough his sister had been, she was only fourteen when The Hand of the King sank. How could she have survived that, when barely a piece of wreckage from the actual ship had been found?

He was out of the building now, and his car had already been brought round front even though he hadn’t actually called for it. Todd must have…he was rather useful, Robb supposed. Whatever was waiting for him at the hospital couldn’t wait, Robb was in the car with a quick nod to the driver. 

The drive from the office to the hospital was only fifteen minutes, but it felt like torture. He tried calling his mother’s cell, but it went to voicemail. So, he sat back in his seat for the rest of the ride and let memories of his youngest sister flood over him. All the while not really believing it to be true. All the while hoping it was. All the while telling himself that he wouldn’t be heartbroken if it wasn’t her, that it wouldn’t be like losing her all over again. 

When they got to the hospital he ran, stopping only to ask the nurse at the front desk where they were. He lost his breath not from running, but because she answered with “Miss Stark is in Room 451”. He repeated the number in his head like a prayer as he ran through the hospital, not caring if the President of Stark Industries looked like a madman. 

And then he was there. And so was his mother – her eyes red from crying. And so was a doctor, saying something about trauma and scar tissue. Robb couldn’t listen to that now. He pushed past them into the room. 

She was bigger than before, but still small. She was pulling on a grey hoodie with her back to him. It could have been anyone, really, but it was her. He didn’t need someone to tell him. She was home. 

“Arya.”


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The pace probably won't be so fast for the rest of the week, but I'll do my best. Littlefinger is...Littlefinger.

2010, Somewhere in the Pacific Ocean

Sansa awoke to the feeling of the sun burning her skin and her legs numb from the cold of the ocean. She let her eyes open and tried to calm her panicked breathing. Panicking, when all she had to hold onto was this wooden table that had survived the shipwreck simply by being the first thing of the deck, would only end in her drowning. But how could she not? This was not the first time she’d woken up, and she knew that at least three days had passed since she’d been pulled out of the boat’s side. 

She’d already relived every detail of events the first time she’d awoken. The last time she’d seen her father and Arya’s faces. She’d never seen either one of them look like that – they’d always been so much braver than her. As she fell she saw true fear in their eyes, the fear of seeing her die and not knowing if they were next. 

How ironic, that she is not dead and they surely are. No, not ironic, wrong. It’s wrong that she is here floating in the middle of the ocean, only the occasional scraps of the ship and the occasional seagull to keep her company. She should be dead, on the sea floor. She wondered if she should just loosen her grip and let herself fall. 

But then she remembered what it felt like to fall the first time, and she can’t bring herself to do it. She was too cowardly to die like that. Instead, she thought it would be from thirst. Already it was the worst thirst she’d ever felt in her life – she daydreamed of drinking water like she used to daydream of boys and parties and fairytales. She remembered reading something about humans being able to last five days without water. Two days left, then. 

Sansa floated and tried not to think about dying anymore, but then she thought about Arya and her father and thinking about them was worse than thinking about her own death. They never should have gotten on the stupid boat. It felt wrong. Sansa knew something was wrong, she had felt it from deep in her stomach. She let her father convince her it would be fun, like every other time. If only she had tried to convince him, told him they shouldn’t go until he relented. The three of them would be home with the rest of their family. With her mother and the boys. 

They probably still didn’t know – it was too early for that. But in a few days, they would get the news. Who would be the messenger? A member of the coast guard? Or just a regular police officer. Whoever it was would come to the door of Winterfell, hat in hand, and Rickon would answer the door because he always did no matter how many times Catelyn Stark told him not to. The visitor would be let into the parlor that Catelyn was so proud of, and the minute Sansa’s mother saw his or her face she would know what had happened. Her mother was clever like that. Bran, clever for his age, would ask what had happened. Robb would go quiet, and try to take everything in, not believing it could be true. Rickon would look around at his mother and brothers and become afraid. 

Sansa closed her eyes, she didn’t like thinking about this either. She didn’t want to think of her mother wailing and holding onto her brothers after being told that her husband and daughters were lost at sea.

Lost at sea, what a romantic turn of phrase. This didn’t feel romantic at all. Her once pale skin was turning bright red from the unprotected rays of the sun where she was out of the water. She constantly kept her feet and toes moving, but she wouldn’t be surprised if they became irreversibly damaged from the cold. 

After two more days had gone by she might have no feeling in her legs at all. She might have boils on the skin of her arms and face and neck. She might be so thirsty that she’d forget the salt water would kill her. She might be mad. She might be ready to let go of that silly wooden table and her silly little life. 

There wass a loud, deep sound that almost caused Sansa to fall from the edge of the table in surprise. She shot up and scooted herself forward, almost to a sitting position but not quite because she didn’t trust the table to keep her afloat. It felt like the loudest thing she’d ever heard, but it was a familiar sound. A ship’s horn. Looking around, Sansa saw a beautiful boat with dark wood and sails and thought she must be hallucinating. Boats didn’t look like that anymore. She had lost her sanity and ended up in one of the stories she’d read as a child. 

Real or not, Sansa realized, it’s probably not going to get better from here. Risking sinking, she carefully got up onto her knees, feeling the table lower slightly at the added wait. Straightening herself up as much as she could she started to desperately wave her arms in the air. It would pass right by her, unless someone caught sight of her movement. 

As it got closer, Sansa became more convinced that it was a real (though admittedly strange) ship. It really did look like something from a storybook about pirates. For a moment, Sansa even thought it was flying a scull-and-crossbones flag, until the boat was closer and she got a better look at it. Though the flag was black, there was no white on it, but red. What shape the red on the flag was made out in was impossible for Sansa to make out, even as the side of the boat was a handful of yards away from her. The ship stopped moving, no longer gliding along at it’s easy pace, it had been turned slightly to bring it to a stop, bringing it even closer to Sansa and her table. It wasn’t until Sansa saw the people on the ship getting ready to lower down a lifeboat that she realized she’d been seen. They were coming to get her. She would weep, had she not already wept out all the moisture in her body. 

Three people jumped into the lifeboat, one grabbing the oars and the other two sitting towards the front. They were calling something out to her but she couldn’t make it out – it didn’t sound like English. With every foot, they got closer to her, she thought of her father and Arya. Rescue them, she thought bitterly, rescue my father and sister...

She let them reach her, it was two men and a woman, all very gruff looking. The two with free hands pulled her into the boat by the soft sides of her arms. Sansa was grateful they hadn’t reached out for her hand, she could still feel her grip sliding out of her father’s.  
They tried to speak to her, but their language was unrecognizable to her. She was shaking, from cold and exhaustion. Her rescuers quickly realized they weren’t going to get anywhere through talking, so they focused their attention on turning back around and getting back to the ship, where they tied up the ropes and were lifted up the side in the boat. It was large, larger than The Hand of the King which had been a very expensive and accommodating yacht. The ship’s deck was tidy but busy – covered with people running around. It reminded Sansa off the staff at any of her mother’s events, who struggled to keep up with the perfectionist hostess. 

Someone handed Sansa a blanket, which she eagerly accepted. “Thank you.” She croaked in a hoarse, unused voice – but whoever had given it to her was already gone. Though people whisked by her, she was alone and unsure what she should do. She needn’t have worried about that, it turned out. Because the largest man Sansa had ever seen – he must have been seven feet tall – strode up to her, backing her against the ship rail. His expression was cold and terrifying, and Sansa thought that he might kill her right there. Instead, he grabbed her by the arm and practically dragged her along as she stumbled on barely usable feet. She was not grateful for his grip on her arm – harsh and bruising. He pulled her up where the deck raised for the wheel and a windowed room that you couldn’t see inside because of the current glare from the sun.

“Where are you taking me?” Sansa asked, her voice still cracking from lack of use and water. Silence. He pulled the door open for the above-deck room and threw her inside. She might have caught her balance if she had any strength left in her body. The door slammed behind her, the giant of a man hadn’t come inside with her, to her relief. Being alone felt safer than being with him. 

Body curled on the floor, Sansa just wanted to close her eyes for a moment for real…to get a real night’s sleep without having to worry about drowning. She still had the blanket mysteriously gifted to her, and even though it was course fabric it was as soothing as a baby blanket to her in that moment. 

“Don’t fall asleep. If you don’t drink and eat something first you might not wake up.” Sansa shot up to a sitting position, she had thought she was alone but hadn’t even properly looked around the room. It had just been so quiet, until the throaty voice broke the silence. 

The speaker was a man, sitting at a desk that looked more like it belonged in her father’s office than on a boat. He was probably close to her father’s age, but that was where the similarities ended. Her father had been broad and muscular, with an open and honest face and gentle eyes. This man was lithe and lean-faced, with hair greying just at the ends and green eyes that seemed almost amused as they looked down at her crumpled and wet on the floor. 

But that look was gone quickly, and Sansa would later convince herself that she imagined it, replaced by one of concern. He stood up and moved to a cabinet, opening it to reveal a fridge hiding behind the mahogany that covered the ship. He took out a water bottle and a wrapped sandwich and the normalcy of it all was enormously relieving. It was just a boat, not a fantasy. She had been rescued, she was going to be okay. The guilt already lay heavy on her, that she was saved when twelve people had not been. But the man was walking over to her and holding out the food and water.

She wanted to grab them from him and deplete them in seconds before asking for more, but her pride wouldn’t allow it. So, she carefully took the water bottle from him and then held out her free hand to his so that he might help her stand. One of his eyebrows shot up, and he looked at her more closely – studying her face. She lifted her chin up in a small act of defiance. This time there was no room for interpretation as amusement filled up his face. It made him look younger. 

He smiled and held his hand out for her. “You’re very lucky we found you, how long were you floating like that?” He asked, as she tried her best to stand gracefully. The blanket had to be abandoned, since she had no free hand to hold onto it with. The stranger looked her up and down, causing her to take a quick look down her person as well. It had almost been bedtime when the storm hit, she was wearing what had been her favorite sleeping attire – a pink silk robe covered in embroidered flowers and a matching little nightie. They were ruined, and did almost nothing to cover her body, but her pride kept her walking straight instead of running back for the blanket. 

“Yes, I know.” She said. Her voice sounded a little less like a life-long smoker’s, to her relief. He guided her to a small round table, and put the sandwich down on it. Sansa thought a little sadly of the table she’d been so literally attached to, now drifting on its own. Sansa looked back to her escort, “And three days, I think.” 

The older man released the hand he’d been lightly holding and pulled back a chair from the table, clearly for her. “Poor sweet thing, you’re safe now.” But as she sat down and began eating, a pair of green eyes watched her – looking hungrier than she was. And she didn’t feel safe.


	4. Chapter Four

2017, Starling City

“I didn’t give you control of the Starling Tribune so you could lose scoops to twitter-bots.”

“No, you gave it to me so I could accost newly reunited families.” Jaime quipped, he could practically see the annoyance on his father’s face through the phone.

“Do you think the Stark family isn’t going to be accosted? Every media outlet in the country is going to go after them for this story. If it’s going to happen anyway, you should be the one to do it. They know you, so you’re not some stranger coming into their home…”

“I haven’t spoken to anyone in that family since the funerals.”

Tywin ignored his son, like he usually did. “Besides, my paper doesn’t lose out on stories simply because my son is a stubborn fool. You want to help the Starks? Get an exclusive so detailed no one else will bother them.”

Jaime said, “How long will you give me? A week?” He fiddled with his keys in the hand not holding his cellphone. He was in the Tribune parking lot – he’d been about to try and grab a beer with Bronn when the call came in. He’d winced, talking to his father was never a pleasant experience, which had made Bronn laugh before he took off on his motorcycle with a cheeky “Say hello to your fucker of a father for me.”

Tywin Lannister didn’t make requests – he made demands. And Jaime had spent the better part of thirty years trying to free himself of those demands. But where had it all gotten him? Here he was, working at a business his father owned (bought out the minute Jaime had started freelancing there) and writing the stories his father wanted written. 

“A week? You think those simpering idiots at the Gazette will wait a week? I want it ready to print in three days.” Tywin said. Jaime snorted, his father would have him knock on the door of the Stark’s home this very minute and interrupt what was probably the happiest moment in that families fucking life since the wreck that took business mogul Ned Stark from the world, and apparently only one of his daughters. 

“Fine.” Jaime spat, hanging up before his father could run his day any more. 

It was a great story, there was no denying that. Unbelievable, even. If it weren’t for the paparazzi photos of the family leaving the hospital that he’d seen he would think it was a hoax. That there was an actress with a resemblance to the Stark girl who thought she could get some money and fame. But Catelyn Stark was not foolish like her husband had been – she wouldn’t be tricked so easily. Even though Jaime really hadn’t seen the family in years, he was confident that was still true. 

As for the rest of the living Starks, he barely remembered them. There were a several boys, he didn’t know how many, exactly. He’d read stories and seen photos of the eldest, Robb, who was now the President of Stark Industries despite his young age. Some of the stories were covered in his own paper. The praise for the attractive boy with the famous name poured in, but Jaime knew from experience not to trust an article for an honest depiction of a person. He hadn’t sparred a thought for the two girls lost on the boat since the combined funerals seven years ago – a funeral he spent thinking about what Ned Stark’s death meant for Starling City without sparring much thought for the two teenage girls. 

Jaime resembled his father more than he liked sometimes, and that was one of those times he realized now. He’d been wrapped up in how suspicious it all seemed, how significant, that the grief of their family had been lost on him. He regretted that. If only he could make up for that by letting them celebrate the miracle that was a little girl coming back from the grave. 

But that would mean fighting his father, and Jaime had given up on fighting his father – for now at least. There was a bigger picture here. And protecting someone important to him meant disrespecting the Stark family once again. Excuses, that annoying little voice in Jaime’s head chimed, you’re dying to worm out this story. 

He should have been drinking with Bronn right then, maybe then that little voice would give him some peace. But fuck, he wasn’t going to King’s Landing where the female bartender gave him free beer on tap.  
Jaime pulled a cigarette and lighter out of his pocket, taking a long drag before checking online to go over the photos and quick new alerts online again. None of the photos gave a clear picture, but there was a tabloid article that had dug up an old school photo of the girl from just before she’d gone missing. The Arya Stark then looked like any other girl, if not small for her age and possessing rather large eyes. She almost looked like her father, but most certainly not like her mother. Jaime wondered what she looked like now, seven years of being stranded later. The article gave only the small information everyone knew – the Stark girl was 21 now, she’d been found on the island by some Chinese fishermen, she had been legally dead for years, she was the sole survivor of the accident…

She was most likely crazy. Jaime decided as he drop the cigarette and smothered it under his shoe. No one could go through that without going crazy – especially not a kid. If he were a Stark, he would keep the press as far away from her as possible. 

Here’s hoping the actual Starks are less cautious, Jaime thought as he climbed into his car and started it up. If he had only had three days for the story he’d have to set up an interview immediately. And there would be no reaching the Starks over the phone fast enough. He would have to go to Winterfell, the Stark estate, right now. He’d bring flowers – no, that was too obvious. He’d pick up a bottle of scotch. 

That was exactly what Jaime did – he stopped at a liquor store and grabbed the most expensive bottle of scotch and another for him and Tyrion to share the next time his brother called and demanded brotherly bonding in the form of getting hammered. 

“You sure you don’t want anything else?” The clerk asked, eyeing Jaime’s Rolex with his beady eyes. 

“What would you get someone who just came back from a deserted island?” Jaime joked, but the man tried to sell him rum – an island-themed brand. Jaime didn’t know the Stark girl well enough to know if she’d be offended by the joke or laugh along, so he politely declined and left with his original choice. 

After he was back in his car and driving he got his second call of the evening – another Lannister name lit up the screen. 

“Cersei.” He said quietly after hitting accept and speaker. 

“Come over.” Her voice was more familiar to him than his own, but he wasn’t sure if the familiarity comforted or tortured him. He longed for some unfamiliarity between them – to not know every detail of his sister inside and out. But what was done was done, they’d already crossed a line impossible to return to the other side of. This wasn’t something you could change your mind about – not without being prepared for your world to burn afterwards. Cersei would see to that. He loved her, but she would make sure of it. 

“I can’t, I have an assignment.”  
She scoffed, “You’re the Editor in Chief, you’re supposed to be the one giving out assignments.”

“I do, all the time, actually. But this one’s from dear old dad, you know how he can be. He’s getting grumpy in his old age.” Jaime said, trying to control the conversation even slightly. He should have known better.

“I don’t want to talk about him. I want to see you. Robert has been dead for a year and you haven’t visited me once.” She replied. Cersei Lannister was even more demanding than Tywin – he had once found it charming. He still did, but not when it had to do with repeating past actions. 

“I visit all the time. I was there two weeks ago. Should I be worried about your memory?” 

“You visited Joffrey and Myrcella and Tommen.” Her tone left no room for argument. But then she sighed, and softened her voice. “I want to hold you. I love you – and you love me. Tell me a reason why we shouldn’t express that love for each other.”

“You know why.” He sounded so much weaker than her. He was weaker than her – he’d given up fighting her just like he gave up fighting with Tywin. That’s what Jaime did, he gave up. He’d given up on school, he’d given up on every normal relationship he’d ever had, and he’d given up on taking himself seriously. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, your incestuous lover has to go ruin some other people’s day.”


	5. Chapter Five

2010, An Island in the Pacific Ocean 

A man found a girl on the beach. 

He saw her impact on the natural landscape first. She had made a little bit of shelter by pulling her life raft over top of the open crevice of a rock face so she could huddle underneath when the harsh storms hit the island. Driftwood was piled in a dug-out pit of sand – a failure of an attempt to start a fire because it was not nearly dry enough on this part of the island. There was a dip in one of the rocks that had been covered in leaves both on bottom and top. A man inspected it. Rainwater, collected and attempted to keep clean for drinking. However long the newcomer had been there, they were surviving at least.

“Come out. A man knows you are there.” He said, staring at the rock he could hear her behind - she was not good at quieting her breathing. A girl came out brandishing a piece of wood like a sword, looking close to death. She was starving and filthy, and she wore desperation like she wore her muddy clothing. But her expressive brown eyes were strong and held no fear of him, even though she must have noticed the bow over his shoulder. 

“Who are you?” She asked fiercely, “How did you get here?”

“A man has been here for many years.” He replied, raising one eyebrow in amusement. The child thought she had the upper hand on him with only a stick to defend herself. Of course, he had no desire to harm a girl. “He does not count anymore.”

A girl blinked several times, disappointment beginning to show on her face. “You’re crazy.” Her arm dropped an inch from where it held up her stick-sword. 

“Perhaps, or perhaps a girl is the one who is crazy. Or maybe both a man and girl have lost their minds on this island. There is no way to know.” He opened his hands upward – a gesture meant to show openness, that a man would not hurt a girl. 

Instead of calming, a girl bristled. Like a startled cat, a man thought with a small smile. “I’m not crazy. And you didn’t answer my question. Who are you? Are we the only people on this island?”

He bowed his head to her slightly and offers a name, one alias of many. “A man has the honor to be Jaqen H’gar. There are more, but a girl would do well not to seek them out.” A man told her seriously, so a girl might know the others are not friends. 

A girl’s arm lowered more, close to her side but still pointing her driftwood at him. She hid her fear well, but now he saw it in her eyes. “Why? I need to find a way to get home. A boat, or a radio. My family…” An expression a man had not seen in a long time came over a girl’s face, one a man did not wish to name. “I need to get home to my mother and brothers.” She said. 

A man hesitated. “There is no escape from this island. Not for a man. Not for a girl.”

They stayed like that, facing each other and silent for a long moment before a girl spoke again. “I don’t believe you.” She had raised up her mock weapon again, but she looked exhausted. A strong gust of wind could have knocked her down at this point, no matter how much courage she had. 

“A girl can believe what she likes, but that does not change the truth of it.” He said. The sound of birds squawking and fleeing the trees from the nearby forest-line caught the pair’s attention. The others were there, closer by the second to where he and a girl stood. A man stepped back and reached for his bow, glancing back and forth between the trees and the girl. “It is time to go. A girl should follow a man, if she wants to survive.” He turned his body all the way towards the approaching enemy. A girl might not trust him, but he trusted her and the truth her eyes told. 

“Who are they?” A girl asked from behind him as several figures emerged from the shadows. A man nocked an arrow and fired it rapidly into the shoulder of the closest man. 

He ignored a girl’s question and yelled out to the newcomers. The man whose shoulder had been hit clutched his wound and leaned over in agony but stayed on his feet. “A man has given you a warning! He will strike a heart next.”

The hired soldiers hesitated – they knew how many of their own he had killed with as well as he did. And a man remembered more than just the number. He knew all the faces and eyes of the men whose lives he had snuffed out – from both his time on the island and the years before. A faceless man never forgets his offerings to the many-faced god, even if they were many yards away and fell to the strike of his arrows. Even if he never used their faces for himself. 

A man had kept the face and name he wore now for the many years he had been on this island. Those who chased him knew him and his skill, so they were not easily tricked by a changed face. But no amount of time would make a man forget what he was – that he had no name, and his life was meant in service of the many-faced god who was death. He would serve the lives of these three men to his god if that was necessary. For now, though, he could not help but think a girl’s arrival after his years of solitude was significant. He had seen a girl’s courage and desire to survive. In those traits she wore so openly, he knew she had a purpose here. That there was a reason his god had brought her here. Most paths, he knew, were altered to the will of fate and deities despite mankind’s best efforts at freedom. 

A man turned and grabbed a girl by the arm to pull her behind the rock face she had used for shelter as the mercenaries raised their machine guns. He would put off ending their life’s journeys to keep her alive – for now. A girl protested to being grabbed, but quickly quieted at the sound of ricocheting bullets. Terrible, loud, and graceless weapons, a man thought with contempt.

“This is the second time someone has shot at me in a week.” A girl said quietly, then she looked at him with an annoyed expression. “They’re shooting at me because of you, right? Why do they want to kill you? Did you kill someone with that?” She nodded towards his bow.

“A girl asks many questions, but now is the time to go. Or else a girl might never ask another question.” He replied, peering around the rock while exposing as little of a target as possible. The enemy drew closer, but a man and a girl had not been surrounded or cornered. They could escape into the trees at their back-right if they stayed low and moved quickly. He told her as much, pointing to the spot in the trees they should try to reach first, where the bullets would be caught in the bark of the tall pines. 

Brown eyes steeled themselves against his gaze as she said, “I’m ready.”

A man smiled. “A girl has more courage than sense.” But he quickly dropped the smile for a more serious expression, getting an arrow from his quiver and nocking it. “Remember, a girl must…”

“Stay low, I know.” She interrupted, dropping the stick she’d been holding onto for so long. “Like I said, this isn’t the first time I’ve been shot at. Next your going to tell me to bob and weave.”

A man wouldn’t tell her that now, they had waisted enough time. Instead, he simply nodded as a signal and they were off. Running with their backs bent over awkwardly and weaving across the short expanse of beach. Gunfire surrounded them like a familiar song – to a man, at least. Bullets hit the sand and it flew upwards like the water of a geyser.

He turned back and let his prepared arrow loose, not stopping the movement of his feet. He caught a glimpse of his arrow hit the spot he’d warned it would – the chest of one of the mercenaries. A man memorized the face in an instant, then turned forward again.

A girl was quick on her feet – she was at the treeline before he was. Sand coated her like a second layer of skin, but she appeared to retain no injuries. 

“This way.” He said, when she slowed to look at him for more instruction now that they were off the beach and protected by pines. He ran further into the dense brush of the forest and uphill. It only took a little more running for the shooting to stop. Their ammo was a precious thing here – they wouldn’t waste any more of it on a target out of sight. They would, however, pursue a man and a girl on foot.

At that speed, the pair reached the hillside cave with a large enough distance between them and their pursuers that his hideout was not compromised. The men passed by the tiny crack of an opening without a second glance. It didn’t seem like a human-sized opening to their eyes, but a man was slim and could contort his body to slip in. A girl fit through easily. Once you got through that small opening the stone and earth widened into a real cave. A second crack further up the incline let light into the cave from above, and a man also kept a couple of gas lanterns he’d stolen from the enemy’s encampment. He grabbed one of those now, to illuminate the areas of the cave untouched by natural light. For the amount of time a man had spent there, he didn’t have much – faceless men weren’t meant to keep many possessions. There was a self-fashioned spit over the fire, two woolen blankets, and a plastic container for drinking water. 

A girl had her back to the stony wall and was inspecting it and him thoroughly. Her eyes landed on the spit, where the remainder of meat from a waterfowl he’d cooked yesterday remained. She was starving, and the meat must have looked like salvation to her. A man picked up the stick it was skewered with and offered it to her gently. He said, “It’s yours. Eat.”

For a moment, a girl looked at him suspiciously again. If she’d still had that stick he was sure she’d be raising it now. But whether the short time they had spent together had convinced her to trust him a little, or the fact that she had not eaten in many days, she ended up taking the offering from him. 

A man and a girl sat together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I owe some major apologies for how long it took me to write this chapter. Thanks for the reads and kudos everyone! And special thanks to commenters (shout out to secretsorry, sophiabell01, pinkyrai, and Pandean for the multiple comments).


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